Things to do
by KeepCalmAndKeepWriting
Summary: The last thing Eames needed was to become obsessed over a dream that could never fall to light. He had Arthur. He loved Arthur. It wasn't fair that he should ask for anything more.


**(RIGHT. I really am going to stop writing after this, so help me. Exams= Revision which means No More Writing For 3 Months. Or so I keep telling myself... ) **

**Enjoy, and, as always, leave a review if you are so obliged :)**

"Eames, _Eames!"_

Arthur called out impatiently, moving swiftly across one empty conference room into the next, gun raised. Where the hell was the insufferable man?

They were 2 levels down in the mind of a successful entrepreneur-turned-millionaire, and the job was nearly complete, having run without a hitch. All Eames had to do was forge the comfortingly familiar secretary of the mark- and get the papers signed. That needed to be done pretty soon however, as the projections were getting agitated and Arthur knew it was only a matter of time before they turned on the team.

"Eames!" he tried again, loudly, speeding up when he noticed projections halt in the hall-way, eyeing him suspiciously. Arthur turned a corner, and shouldered through a door at the end of the corridor. He burst into the room, sighing in relief when he saw Eames standing to one side, back to him, looking out the window.

"Thank God" Arthur muttered. When Eames didn't reply straight away, he tried again- "Eames, we need to get going- you know, 'Things to do, ideas to steal'," he said, smiling slightly at the use of Eames' latest favourite phrase, before turning to yank an armchair across the door to buy them some time. He turned back to Eames, who still hadn't yet acknowledged him – but was instead gazing blankly out of the window.

Eames was completely oblivious to Arthur's presence, transfixed by the view from the window.

The building opposite was similar to the one Ariadne had designed for the place of the extraction. In fact, if you looked closely, it was identical. The same number of floors, the same number of fire escapes, the same number of floor to ceiling sheer glass windows. It was these windows that allowed Eames to see directly into the room opposite, and the sight was something rather unexpected.

The room was not bland and grey and generically office-like as the others were. It was a small, green park, enclosed within 4 walls, with trees and birds and pale wisps of cloud skirting along the blue ceiling.

On the grassy floor, a projection of Arthur, _his_ projection, was sitting on a picnic blanket.

Arthur was beaming, gazing fondly at a dark-haired little girl, no older than 3, opposite him. As Eames watched, the toddler brought up one small, chuddy-fingered hand to touch Arthur's, whose smile grew even wider, eyes creased, cheeks dimpling. With a twist to the gut, Eames realised he recognised that smile. It was a private part of Arthur that was _his_, the smile only appearing on rare occasions- in the soft light of morning, when Eames had helped that old lady across the street, when he had first told Arthur he loved him-

Projection Arthur closed a hand gently around the little girl's and began to laugh.

Eames didn't know why Arthur and the toddler were there. He could only deduce that although this wasn't _his_ dream- some of his subconscious had seeped through. Some of his more powerful memories. Some of his wishes.

He had never thought about it before, children. Eames had been quite happy-thank-you-very-much just having Arthur all to himself. But seeing this...

This was painful.

"Eames?"

The real Arthur's voice was softer now, slightly wary, and a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder snapped Eames out of his reverie.

"W-what? Oh, yes, sorry Arthur," Eames sounded a little hoarser than he intended, and Arthur's brow furrowed in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, holding Eames' gaze, searching his face instinctively for the problem.

"Yes yes, absolutely fine, never better- lead the way," Eames insisted jovially, forcing himself to sound relaxed, giving Arthur a half-hearted smile, and gesturing to the door.

Arthur gave a curt nod, but was still frowning slightly. He turned towards the door, raising the gun again.

As they left the office, Eames glanced back once more through the window of the building opposite.

The park, Arthur and the little girl had vanished.

* * *

><p>Arthur was still frowning when they awoke from the dream having successfully completed the job. He caught Eames' eye, who tried to give him a reassuring smile- but Arthur wasn't fooled.<p>

Arthur wasn't fooled by many people, and especially not Eames.

Later, once they'd arrived back in their hotel room, Arthur gave Eames the one-over. From what _he _could tell- Eames was in no physical pain. He wasn't sick- but something was definitely wrong. He'd never seen Eames act so _strangely_. He'd done his job, sure, but with so little feeling the mark almost suspected his secretary's validity- something that, thanks to Eames' perfect record, had never been an issue before. Eames had moved more slowly and said little, as though in some sort of daze.

So yes, Arthur was worried.

Eames shrugged off his coat onto the back of the sofa. Arthur immediately picked it up to hang it by the door. Eames said nothing. No jibing comment, no lazy chuckle. Nothing.

Silence.

"Something's wrong." Arthur said, making it sound like more of a statement than a question. They both knew he was speaking the truth. Eames kept his gaze on the floor, and started to unbutton his shirt. He nodded.

Arthur knew better than to ask questions when Eames was like this. Sometimes this happened- he knew forging left far more of an impact than anything else in their line of work. The remnants of another person, their appearance, mannerisms, feelings- they left traces, lingering like wisps of smoke, foreign odours and fleeting memories. It didn't happen every time, but this wasn't uncommon. Eames would be quiet for a few hours, maybe a day or two, retreat a little into himself, finding _Eames_ again- and then he would be back to normal. Arthur hadn't expected it to happen with _this_ particular job- especially since the forge was superficial and lacked the need to be truly convincing. Still. He wasn't going to put Eames under pressure. Eames would be back to normal in no time.

* * *

><p>Eames felt further from normal than he had in his entire life. He was a mess, he realised somewhat dryly- a mess of completely conflicting emotions and the one person who <em>knew<em> something was amiss, who _wanted_ to help- couldn't know.

He couldn't understand why the idea of children was a surprise to him. Hell, they'd even _discussed_ it- albeit in a slightly offhand, teasing- 'why would ever sign you life away like that?' sort of way. So why should some minor, dreamlike projection have had such a profound effect on him? It was _his_ subconscious after all.

Eames lay on the hotel bed in the half-light of the dim bed-side lamp, the image of the park ingrained in his mind. The child's tiny hand, of the way Arthur watched her- protective and caring and with such _love_. Eames' stomach twisted.

Why? Why was his mind doing this to him? Children were... well- they didn't fit into the equation that was his life. The last thing he needed was to become obsessed over a dream that would never fall to light. He had Arthur. He loved Arthur. It wasn't fair that he should ask for anything more.

The bed dipped next to him as Arthur climbed in, switching off the light and plunging the room into darkness. He shuffled a little, getting comfortable, a warm body pressing against Eames' side. Eames was hit by the sudden image of Arthur, sitting in the park, laughing and laughing, swinging the girl around in his arms.

"Eames?" Arthur's voice was soft in the darkness.

"Hmm?"

"Good night."

Arthur pressed his lips in chaste kiss against Eames' shoulder, before resting his head next to him.

Eames closed his eyes, pained, willing the image to disappear, willing himself to forget, to forget the little girl, to forget Arthur's eyes, bright and laughing, and above all, desperately willing himself to not realise the idea that yes-

He wanted it.

* * *

><p>Arthur sighed, frustrated, and put down his newspaper in an action that clearly said- 'right-I've-had-enough-of-this-crap'. Eames glanced up from his toast, but said nothing.<p>

"Eames. Tell me what's wrong- because I'm clearly missing something here," Arthur's tone commanded authority, but the crease of concern in his brow said otherwise.

Eames raised an eyebrow in a somewhat feeble attempt to be disapproving, finger tracing the grains of the wooden table.

"Not like you, Mr. I-could-have-told-you-that-by-the-colour-of-your-socks."

Now it was Arthur's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Don't try and tell me this isn't something big- because I _know_ you, and this," Arthur gestured across the table between them, "isn't you. Something happened." He eyed Eames determinedly, an all too familiar sign that he wasn't going to let this drop.

"If I said I would be fine by tomorrow, would you let it drop?" Eames asked morosely, poking his crusts around his plate.

"No."

Eames sighed and reached for his cup of tea. Arthur's hand closed over his on the cup- and finally, _finally_, Eames met his eyes.

"We _will_ discuss this later," Arthur told him a little fiercely, "but I need to go and collect our cuts from Davis." He got up, looking down at Eames, "I'll be back soon, alright?"

Eames nodded, and Arthur seemed satisfied, just brushing Eames' shoulder with his hand as he made for the door.

* * *

><p>When Arthur came back 40 minutes later, Eames was nowhere to be found. His wallet, wash-kit and favourite shirt was missing too.<p>

Arthur slumped into an armchair, his head falling into his hands with a sigh.

* * *

><p>Eames rolled his totem between finger and thumb, and nodded at the barman to bring over another shot. He was in some unknown bar miles away from the hotel, and had spent the majority of the day at the casino. Coming away with far less than he had gone in with- he was trying to drink himself into oblivion.<p>

He was being selfish, he knew that, not telling Arthur where he was going- knowing the other would only worry. He was being a coward too- running away from Arthur's well-meaning questions, when all the man wanted to do was help-

Shit.

Thinking about Arthur wasn't helping.

Eames couldn't understand, and he was really trying to, but he couldn't fathom _why_ he cared so much about a fleeting image, a brief snap-shot of the impossible, a fucking _projection_ of some child who could never exist?

He was happy with Arthur, happier than he had ever been, gloriously in love and lucky enough to be loved in return. Why couldn't he just let it go?

So he'd ran away for a while, ran away to try and forget, to try and leave this behind- to drink and to gamble _without_ Arthur's disapproving gaze following his every move, tutting at his mistakes, at his drunken behaviour-

But all Eames could think about was Arthur's face, sunlit and laughing and inexplicably happy.

For fuck's sake.

Eames glanced around the dingy pub, at the couple getting it off in the corner, at the tattered tables and chairs, at the dirty counter and even dirtier tumbler he was drinking from. All of a sudden, he was disgusted in himself- burning self-hatred growing in the pit of his stomach. Was this the person he was? Was this the person Arthur had fallen in love with? Running away at the first sign of difficulty? Drinking to forget?

Christ, if he was, he certainly didn't deserve someone like Arthur.

Eames slammed down his glass with enough force to silence the people nearby. He needed to snap the hell out of this, he decided fiercely, tossing some change at the barman, and getting up to leave. He needed to go back.

* * *

><p>It had only been three days, but it seemed like forever since he'd seen Arthur as Eames climbed the steps leading up to their house. He knocked twice on the door, and leant back on his heels, handsin pockets. For a brief, panicked second- he wondered if Arthur would turn him away, if he'd finally had enough of Eames dropping everything and leaving for days on end.<p>

But of course, Eames had always been unfairly lucky when it came to Arthur.

The door swung open suddenly, and Arthur was standing on the doorstep, dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, exactly as Eames remembered. He looked a little more tired and an un-describable strain of emotion lurked behind his dark eyes.

Arthur took a step forward, and pulled Eames into a fierce hug on the top step.

Eames was taken a little by surprise, and took a second to respond, returning the embrace, turning his face into Arthur's neck. His stomach twisted when he realised how Arthur was holding him that much tighter than normal. As though he was afraid to let go.

"'M sorry," Eames mumbled against Arthur's collar-bone.

Arthur pulled back, eyes searching his face, checking he was all _there_, because Jesus, Arthur knew Eames would always come back, but that didn't stop him being as worried as _hell._ "It's okay," he replied, nodding, "just- can you take your phone next time? So you can tell me how long you'll be."

"Alright," Eames conceded, feeling all the more horrible that Arthur had to be so ridiculously understanding when he'd acted so selfishly.

Arthur gave a small smile, and pulled Eames into the house.

* * *

><p>"I really am sorry Arthur- leaving you like that- it was uncalled for."<p>

"Eames," Arthur sounded a little exasperated, "we'd been through this conversation before- I know you need time to yourself sometimes, it's a perfectly reasonable ask. I was worried, but you don't have to _apologise_ for anything." He was smiling, and came over from the kitchen, putting down the two cups of tea on the coffee table and sitting in the armchair opposite. "I'm just glad you're back."

"Urgh- why do you have to be so fucking understanding? Why aren't you furious with me?" Eames asked, scrubbing a hand across his face and looking across at Arthur disbelievingly.

"Do you want me to be angry?" Arthur raised an eyebrow- faintly amused.

"Well, yes- I mean, _no_, of course I don't _want_ you to be angry- I just-" Eames broke off with a sigh. "You are unreasonably tolerant of me."

Arthur chuckled, light and relaxed, "I've had time to build up tolerance- I've known you nearly seven years... Anyway, I know you'll always come back."

Eames grunted in reply and felt a bizarrely strong desire to hit his head against the wall, seeing as Arthur, yet again, clearly didn't want to cause him the physical harm he deserved himself.

"And normally I don't worry too much about it because I know _why_ you've gone off," Arthur continued lightly.

Eames stiffened. He really didn't want to go back to this conversation.

"Eames, think about, please- whenever you've left before it's because of an argument we've had, or because of a difficult forge and you don't quite feel yourself enough to be with me – this, this was random. There was no argument, the forge was easy by your standards-" Arthur looked troubled, "I just want to know why."

Eames took a deep breath. This wasn't going to go away. Arthur wasn't going to drop it- and from the look on Arthur's face, he seemed almost hurt that Eames' didn't trust him. His dark eyes didn't leave Eames'.

"Please Eames, you can tell me," Arthur murmured earnestly, leaning forward, reaching for his hand.

And fuck, there went Eames' entire resolve against this. He sighed, and stared resolutely at the stained coffee table.

"In the dream, in the offices- I, I don't really know what I saw- but, there was this... this _child_, and you, or my projection of you, was playing with it- _her_, and I don't know- I never thought I was one for clichés, but it just felt like we were a proper _family_, and Christ Arthur, I haven't a fucking clue- but _I want it_. I want children."

The silence hung, heavy and unbearable in the room.

And then Arthur laughed.

Eames' gaze snapped up, and he looked at Arthur in utter bewilderment as the Arthur leant forward in his chair, eyes creased, laughing and laughing and laughing. Eames frowned.

"Arthur- _this_ is many things but _fucking_ _funny _is not one of them."

Arthur seemed to notice the tremor of anger in Eames' voice, and stopped, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry, I... I just thought it would be something _awful_."

"Arthur!" Eames yelled, waving a hand in frustration, "I fail to see how _this_ isn't fucking awful! I'm a bloody _gay_ _criminal_ and I want kids!"

Arthur bit back a smile.

"I thought you wanted to leave me," he said with controlled amusement.

"WHAT?" Eames pretended not to notice Arthur's snigger as his voice screeched though several octaves, "Arthur are you _out of your fucking MIND?"_

"Clearly," Arthur muttered, chuckling again and Eames didn't even know why he was so angry. He got up and strode around the room, arms waving.

"NO, you fucking arsehole- I am in bloody _love_ with you, and was _not_ planning to leave anytime soon unless you wanted me to?" He glanced mid-rant back at Arthur as a the statement twisted into a question, who shook his head, cheeks dimpling, "And I can't _believe_ you even _thought_ I was going to do something like, especially seeing as you're _meant_ to be the intelligent one in this relationship- and I still don'_t_ see how does this helps the situation" He finished, falling back into the sofa cushions, brow furrowed.

Arthur got up and sat next to Eames, resting a comforting hand on his thigh.

"I'm sure it's perfectly normal to think about this sort of thing- don't worry about it," and he kissed Eames lightly on the neck.

"What do _you _think though? About having kids?" Eames insisted, feeling a little foolish now.

"Hmm? Well, call me a traditionalist Eames, but pretty soon after I realised I like men more than women I figured children would never come into it. I guess I haven't really thought about it since then..."

Arthur sounded relaxed, happy, and completely unperturbed by Eames' revelation, leaning against Eames' side. Eames felt suddenly reckless in the face of Arthur being so understanding-

"What would you say if I wanted children- for real?" he blurted out.

Arthur pulled away abruptly, and met Eames' gaze- all trace of amusement gone, face serious. "Children are never a good idea in our line of work Eames; you know that- just look at Cobb. Our career choice means we would hardly make reliable parents; we leave at a moment's notice for months on end- it wouldn't be fair to the child. Then there is of course the danger, children provide perfect leverage- Cobb has a ridiculous amount of security against the possibility of kidnapping- but that's just the point, it is still possible. I'm not sure I could live with that hanging over me. And aside all that, families with same-sex parents are still relatively rare- no matter how hard we tried, you have to remember that there would be upsetting issues to deal with- comments, dirty looks, discrimination-"

"Discrimination?" Eames interrupted, eyebrow raised, "Christ Arthur, as if we don't get that already. Say what you will about the 21st Century, but I _know_ you noticed that guy who spat at my feet in New York as we walked past."

Arthur pulled a face, jaw tightening. "And it took all my self-restraint to not dismember him there and then- but Eames, you can't ignore the practicalities- I mean, how would we even go about it?"

"Adoption," Eames prompted without missing a beat- he may or may not have already considered the possibilities in the bar the other day, "it seems the most logical option."

"Adopt? Do you have _any_ idea how difficult it is for two men to adopt? The paperwork and background checks are fucking unbelievable-"

"Hack the system. Can't be anymore tricky than the Pentagon," Eames shot back. He'd thought about this too.

"Hack it-? Eames, this isn't bloody _security codes_- we are discussing living _children!_ Do you not have any awareness of morals?"

"Arthur- you kill people for a living, are you sure you want to have the Morals Discussion?"

"_Oh_ for the love of- this is different Eames, and you know it."

"Hardly. Anyway, if we're giving the kid a better life is it really that bad to skip the legalities?"

"I cannot believe we are having this conversation," Arthur muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Seriously Arthur," and Eames was grinning now, because he couldn't help but love it when Arthur got annoyed at him, "Imagine us with a kid- we could teach it to fight off bullies at school, clean a gun, hack into databases, _and _do all the other stuff- learning to talk and walk, Nativities, University-"

"Eames!"

"What?"

"Is this...is all this- am _I _not enough?" And the way Arthur's voice cracked mid-sentence made Eames' blood run cold.

Because shit- he hadn't thought for a moment Arthur would take it like this.

Eames moved closer and leant forward to kiss Arthur's worried, upset expression away. He pulled him into a hug, Arthur's hands warm against his chest.

"No, no, of course you're enough. More than enough. Forget it- it's fine." Because whatever Eames might want on the side was nothing if Arthur didn't agree. He wasn't about to lose Arthur for anything.

* * *

><p>They were quiet for the rest of the day, ambling around the apartment, each comfortable in the other's presence. Over a take-away Chinese that evening, Arthur ate little- he seemed to be thinking hard.<p>

"Alright pet?" Eames asked conversationally, determined to return the atmosphere to normal. He didn't want Arthur to feel bad.

Arthur nodded, then shook his head, then sighed and leant back in his chair. "I'm trying to imagine you as a child. I feel sorry for your mother- I bet you were a nightmare."

And Eames saw the perfect opportunity to show Arthur that the 'Getting a Kid' conversation was well and truly dead.

"Oh really? I have you know that I was a wonderful son, sang in the choir, good report card and all that- and I take your offensive comment entirely to heart," and he frowned at Arthur in mock disapproval, before reaching for both their plates and heading towards the kitchen.

"Eames," Arthur called after him, and Eames could hear the smile behind his voice, "if you were in the choir, why can't you sing to save your life?"

"Piss off Arthur," he called back in a sing-song voice, and Arthur chuckled.

The rest of the evening went from there- Eames point blank refusing to speak normally to Arthur, as though deeply offended, and Arthur kept up the inquiring jabs and teases. It was comfortable, it was familiar and Eames felt himself relax.

Later, when Arthur had finally finished up working on the laptop and came to bed- Eames was propped up against the wall, reading a book, his reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Have I ever told you that glasses are adorable on you?" Arthur asked with a smile, beginning to undo his shirt.

Eames glared at him somewhat disdainfully over the rim of the glasses, eyebrow raised. "Can you not _see_ that I am trying to be annoyed at you?"

"I guessed from the sulking," Arthur told him teasingly, pulling his shirt completely off.

Suddenly Eames' book wasn't so interesting anymore.

"You know, if you think undressing will make me consider forgiving you- you have _completely_ misjudged my character," Eames muttered, eyes glued to Arthur's lean, bare torso, throwing the book carelessly to the floor.

Arthur chuckled, and climbed into bed, curling up against Eames' side, moving his leg in between Eames'.

"And- if you think anything of _that_ nature," Eames continued a little breathlessly, "will appeal to my softer side- you are wholly and most definitely _wrong_."

"Well, that _is_ a shame," Arthur replied, tone one of mock disappointment, and he pulled away.

Eames pulled him back automatically.

Arthur met his serious gaze for a few perilous seconds, before his eyes creased, cheeks dimpled and he started to chuckle. Before Eames knew it- he was laughing too.

"Alright, alright, I'm being ridiculous. I'll behave now," Eames muttered, grinning.

Arthur snorted, "as if you aren't ridiculous most of the time."

Eames paused, "sorry about that," he whispered, suddenly sincere.

Arthur smiled, a little confused, "Don't be an ass- I didn't _mean_ it," he assured.

"No, not just about that... for the whole of today. It wasn't very fair on you," And Eames didn't even know why he was bringing this up again when they had just managed to put it behind them.

Arthur was quiet. He turned his head away from Eames, to the half-closed curtains across the window, where the barest suggestion of moonlight caught his features, the hard line of his mouth.

"Arthur?" Eames asked, concerned, fingers reaching up to trace Arthur's jaw.

"Would you feel better if I told you that maybe you aren't being all that ridiculous?" Arthur murmured, turning back to face Eames, and although the comment was meant to sound casual, it obviously held some deeper meaning.

Eames froze.

"Don't say anything for me darling, I want whatever you want- because that's how this relationship works, we reach a mutual agreement, and I'm not going to push you into-"

"I'm not Eames, _you're _not. I'm pleased you told me what was really on your mind, and now I've had time to think about it, do some research- weigh the pros and cons, I've made up my mind..."

Eames realised he was holding his breath.

" And I...I think it might be nice," Arthur said with a soft smile.

Eames stared, speechless and Arthur gave his hand a squeeze.

"I mean, I have my conditions," Arthur continued seriously, "I think a girl would be better considering our relationship, and preferably we'd adopt from abroad. I looked online and the checks are far less scrupulous, the paperwork less detailed- particularly India, Zimbabwe, Eastern Europe, Russia..." Arthur trailed off, counting various countries off on his fingers.

"Arthur," Eames finally managed, sounding a little strangled, he was so completely overcome, he wasn't sure he would ever speak again. When he did manage to force words out, they were stilted and cracked with emotion-

"I. Bloody. Love. You," and he pulled Arthur into a fierce kiss.

* * *

><p>Four months later, Eames woke with a start, jolting up in bed. For a brief moment, he was completely unaware of why he had woken so suddenly, instinctively checking the room for signs of intrusion, straining his ears for creaks in the floorboards but then-<p>

He remembered.

"Arthur! Arthur, come on, wake up!" He leant over the sleeping figure next to him, reaching up to run a hand through the dark tousled hair, shaking Arthur none too gently with his enthusiasm.

"Whats'matter?" Arthur mumbled into the pillow, turning to look up at Eames who was, in his opinion, far too awake and excitable for 7:30am on a Sunday morning.

"Oh, you know darling," Eames drawled, voice loaded with sarcasm, but barely suppressing a delighted grin, "Things to do, children to adopt..."

Arthur froze for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face.

"Of course. Today's the day," he murmured quietly, more to himself than Eames, glancing down at his hands, forcing back any tears that threatened to spill over just because _today,_ after 4 long, hard months of searching, of _choosing_, of tears, of anxiety, of arguing-

Today they were bringing their little girl home.

**(asdfghjkl Fluffy I know, but I needed a break from the angst :) Hope you liked it!**


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